Pig
by Artful Doodler
Summary: Set in an alternative universe. Taken from Clint Barton's point of view.


When I get home from the gym, Loki is in the kitchen, looking like he's just rolled out of bed. It's 10 P.M.

"Hey, man," I say as I drop my bag and head for the refrigerator for water.

He grunts something at me and turns away. I hear him shuffling down the hall.

Not that I expect anything else. Whatever I say or do is always met with the same quizzical stare.

"As always," I say aloud, "good to see you. Nice chatting with you. But I know you're busy, so don't let me keep you."

Loki has a way of making me feel not just inconsequential but slightly ridiculous. He looks at me as if I'm a laboratory chimpanzee, as if he's amazed that words come of my mouth despite my being a lesser life form.

At first I mistook his behaviour for poor social skills, until one day when I asked him if he'd been shy when he was a kid too. With little more than a look, he insinuated that he could talk to me but simply didn't find it worth the effort.

Believe me, I've tried. I talked about my job – until he made it clear that what I did was a drain on society. I talked about music – until he accused me of contributing to the downfall of culture. I tried to talk about books, but that seemed to cause him physical pain.

Sighing heavily, I drop myself onto the kitchen chair and kick my shoes off.

xxoOoxx

I hate having a roommate. The second bedroom made a great office – and a great place to store all the crap that wouldn't fit anywhere else, like the bike I barely rode anymore, the extra stereo I'd refused in a fit of immature vindictiveness to let my ex take when we split up, and the weight bench that served as a place to put the boxes of books my brother dumped on me when he moved to London with his girlfriend two years ago.

But I really needed that membership at Crunch, and the trip to Bangkok was too good to pass up. And don't get me started on the rigorous demands of appropriate attire and hair as well as the combined introduction of the new Macs and DVD. Well, all of it put my the record company folded one morning, and after three weeks I was forced to take a job as a personal assistant to a B-list producer when inevitably took it out on me when no one returned his calls – which no one ever did.

Which explains my roommate, Loki. An assistant professor of anthropology, he is actually poorer than I am, but that doesn't stop him from assuming an air of superiority, which is now primarily manifested through a steadfast refusal to interact with me – or even to engage in rudimentary conversation.

I have a fairly realistic estimation of myself and a very good idea of my place on the food chain, but I also know I'm not stupid, can be fairly witty, and can embark on a superficial discourse on current events, which is pretty much all that is asked of you in New York.

And when I finally realized I needed a roommate, I imagined something along the lines of _Three's Company_: a set of fun-loving misfortunates sitting cross-legged on each other's beds, bemoaning our love lives, and cooking up pasta primavera in our little kitchen. Instead, I got Apartment Zero.

It's amazing how exhausting this is. And frustrating. Is it any wonder then, given the beating my ego takes on a daily basis – combined with the double whammy of the drought in my dating life and spike in my libido – that I've begun spending more time and money than I should in computer chat rooms.

Fuck it, though. The thing is, in there I can be anything I want. I'm not some beaten-down, beaten-up walking advertisement for early-21st-century ennui. I'm an out-of-control, uninhibited, radical, streetwalking, turn-me-upside-down-and-fuck-me-sideways alley cat of a sex monkey.

I can walk through the door, strip out of my clothes, and slide my ass down over the thick hard shaft of some straight guy sitting alone in his room and let him ride my tight hole until he shoots his sticky load into my guts, and then I can get up and walk away while he's dribbling into his pubes. I love that. Who cares if it's actually some fat middle-aged Judy Garland queen tickling his pecker with one hand and the keyboard with the other? Who the hell knows what he's fantasizing about either?

Not that I'm hard on the eyes in the real world. Despite my current financial restraints, I've never given up my gym membership, which has succeeded in not only relieving the stress of my current state of affairs but also resulted in a physique that demands display in a Dolce and Gabbana black silk tank top. When I face the full-length mirror on the bathroom door, my abdominal muscles are visible without flexing, even when I stand 20 feet away at the end of the hallway.

Yes, I'm bragging. I've earned the right. At least I'm not like Loki, still waiting for that gamine starving-artist look to come into vogue.

I feel my dick starting to uncoil inside my jock, and I slip a hand inside my shorts to encourage it, when I realize Loki might make another foray into the kitchen and find me sitting here playing with myself, giving him one more thing to feel superior about.

That's another thing about having a roommate. If you can't walk around naked, you sure as hell can't jerk off in the kitchen.

Loki's door is directly across from mine, so I always have to make sure mine is closed firmly if I'm going to get it on with myself. I hear it click when I close it, but I give it an extra nudge just to be sure. Then I walk over and turn on my computer.

As I'm slipping my shirt over my head, I hear that I have mail.

My mother: Read later. My ex: Discard now. Tony: Well, let's see what he has to say.

"I have tix to Jeff Stryker in _Doing Hard Time_. Tonight, 8 P.M. Wanna go?"

I'm glad I didn't check my E-mail until now. What's with these porn stars doing theatre? We want to see your dick or your ass or both. We want to watch you come. In close-up. That's it. Period. We don't want you to do anything else. Ever. And we sure don't want to hear you talk. Got it? Good.

I plop my ass down on the chair and head straight to Man2Man. First, I check out the supposedly live guys. One guy is fingering his asshole, but the digitization makes it look like he's breaking his finger. Another guy has just come and is starting to go limp. Damn, missed the show. But looking at his still-oozing slit restarts my cock, so I head for a chat room.

Darkman is there, and so is AssCrazy. They always are.

"Hey, Toybox." (That's me – OK, I know, but I was under pressure when I came up with it.)

"Hey, guys. Anything up?"

"Me," says AssCrazy. "I just got back from that Jeff Stryker show."

"Jesus, she is so tired," says Darkman.

"Maybe, but that pole makes my loins ache," AssCrazy responds.

Hung4U pipes in: "I saw Ryan Idol in Making Porn, and I'd take him over Stryker any day."

I am wondering again if AssCrazy was really Tony, when Rdy4Bear logs on and almost immediately heads for a private room with Darkman.

Hung4U and AssCrazy are still debating the finer points of porn-star appendages when someone new logs in: NickName. That's actually kind of funny.

The instant message pops up on my screen: "Hi."

"Hi," I shoot back.

"Toybox, huh?"

"Yeah, Nick, Toybox. What of it?" OK, so I'm a little crabby still.

"It isn't any lamer than the other ones," NickName says, seemingly trying to tone things down.

"Thanks."

"Wanna get outta here?" he asks.

"Sure," I say. I like the direct approach. It cuts through the bullshit, acknowledges why we are all here, and saves times. We click to a private room.

"Take off your clothes," he says.

I slip my shorts down to my ankles and slide a finger along the edge of my jock, feeling the sweaty dampness of my curly cock thatch. I'm wondering what this one is into, as I massage my crotch. I'm cool with being ordered around in here.

"Tell me," he says.

"My shirt is off. I'm rubbing my hands over my chest. I just worked out, so I'm a little sweaty."

"Smell your pits," he insists.

I turn my head and sniff. It's a little gamy but not bad.

"Tell me."

I'm a little thrown. What am I supposed to day now? "I stink," I type back tentatively.

"You fucking pig."

My terminal almost snarls, and my dick twitches hard. Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah, baby. This is gonna be hot. "I am. I am a pig. I'm a filthy fucking pig," I type back hurriedly.

"Show me your little pig pecker."

I slip my jock down around my thighs, and my dick rises up, pulsing from its nest of blond curls. I slide my hand down under my balls, squeezing them, rolling them around inside the sac.

"DON'T TOUCH IT!" his words scream back at me.

"I'm sorry."

"You don't do anything unless I tell you to."

"OK," I start to type and then erase it and type, "Yes, sir."

"DON'T CALL ME 'SIR'," he screams back.

Shit. Maybe I should have typed "Yes, Daddy." Crap. Who is this guy anyway? Peppermint Patty? Fuck it. It's Saturday night, and of course I don't have a date, so if it was going to be a little daddy-boy scene, I could get into that.

It's certainly different. I hadn't done that scene yet. I don't really think it's something I'd get into out in the real world, but in here, like I said; you can be anything you want for 20 minutes.

"Get down on your knees," he tells me.

I assume this is figurative, but just in case, I push my chair back and kneel down.

"I'm on my knees," I let him know.

"Do you want my cock?"

"Yes, please," I type, praying it's the right thing to say.

"Beg for it," comes his response.

All right. This is a little much. But OK, my dick is bouncing happily away down there, so what the hell: "Please show me your cock. I need your cock. I really need it. Please give it to me."

"I don't think so."

What the _fuck_ is going on here? I reach down and palm the head of my dick, slicking it with ooze. Screw this guy. I'll touch myself if I wanted to. I start typing again: "Please. I really want to see your big cock. I want to touch it. I want to suck it."

"Can you suck it good?"

"Yeah. I can make it feel real good," I tell him.

"Can you take it all the way down? Can I fuck your tonsils?"

"Yeah. Oh, yeah, I can take it. Let me show you," I play along.

"Are you gonna make it hard enough to fuck your little toybox?"

"Yeah, it's gonna be so hard. It's gonna rip right into my hot, tight ass."

"OK. You can touch it," he allows me.

Finally! Jesus Christ.

I run my hand down my dick in a long, slow shuddering stroke and then slip my fingers down under my balls, which are tightened up around the base of my shaft. My middle finger finds the tight knot of my asshole, and I start rubbing in tiny circles.

"I'm taking it out now," I type one-handed. "I'm unzipping your pants and slipping my hand inside. Oh, God, it feels so good."

"TAKE YOUR FUCKING HAND OFF YOUR PITIFUL LITTLE PRICK RIGHT NOW!"

My dick bounces, and I actually gasp as I jerk my hand away. Fucker. What a dick. But I had to admit, this little game had its hot side. I'm harder than I could remember being in a long time. Hmm. Maybe there is something to this, after all.

"I'm sorry," I type back lamely.

"If you want my cock, you give it the attention it deserves. Do you understand me, pig?"

"Yes."

"That means both hands. Now open your mouth."

I actually do this! What am I thinking?

"I'm just gonna give you the head because you didn't listen," he teases.

But his efforts are working. I feel it. The slick rubbery head of a monster shaft rubbing my lips and leaving them slick with precome. I can smell the heated funk and taste the salty tang of cock. The head of my dick is purple with frustration, weeping golden liquid, begging for attention.

"Your mouth is sweet, little pig."

My fingers are no longer on the keyboard. They're buried in wiry curls of hair, full wrinkled ball flesh; my mouth stretched by cock, my tongue aching sweetly from pressure and friction as he pumps my face.

I reach up to type: "God! God! God! Yeah, fuck my face! Fuck it! Fuck my throat!"

"OH, YEAH!" the words hit my screen – and at the same moment I hear it. I mean really _hear_ it. From across the hall.

_What the hell?_ I'm thinking. "Loki?" I type and then erase it.

My heart is pounding in my throat, and my dick rapidly deflates.

"Take that cock. You cock pig," flashes across my screen.

Oh, sure. Snotty, intellectually pretentious Loki as Überdaddy? Right.

No way. I settle back down on my knees and start typing again, my cock swelling as I fall back into the mood. I give him what I hope will thrill him more: "Yeah, it feels so good. You taste good. God, I love your cock!"

"Stand up," he says.

I stand, my cock jutting out and dripping on my keyboard. I swipe the sticky drop with my finger and put it in my mouth.

"Bend over," comes his next order.

I lean forward placing both hands on my desk.

"Ask me to eat your ass."

With one hand I begin typing: "Please. Please eat out my tight hole. Stick your tongue up my asshole. Make it nice and wet."

"Oh, your ass tastes sweet. Nice and sweaty." At least I get a compliment from him.

He has me back in that mode. "Oh, God, yeah," I say, "tongue my hole. Jesus, you're so good. God!" I am feeling it again, the sandpaper roughness of a man's face between my cheeks, the rasps of a tongue against my puckered crack, the nip of teeth, the blast of hot breath. Fuck, this guy is hot! Goddamn, he's hot!

"You think you can take this big cock up that tight little hole?"

"Yeah. Fuck, yeah," I assure him.

"You want me to plant a big load right up there, don't you?"

Oh, Christ. I almost come. My untouched prong jerks, and my balls spasm, ready to spew their contents all over my screen. I grit my teeth and clamp a hand around the base of my shaft to keep from shooting, and then jerk it away guiltily. I get back to the keyboard: "Yes, I want your load. I want to feel your hot come inside me."

I feel hard thighs against the back of my legs, hand pulling my ass cheeks apart, a thick finger sliding into me – and then another. I feel a long, hot, thick pole of flesh against my back and low-hanging hairy balls against the smooth flesh of my butt.

"I'm ready. Fuck me now, please," I type jerkily.

"I'll fuck you when I'm good and ready, pig," he says, clearly not willing to relinquish his control.

"I'm sorry," I type almost wearily. Jesus H. Christ – this could get old.

"Don't you tell me when to fuck you. I oughta leave your ass right here for that."

"Please don't. Please, don't leave. I just love your cock so much, I got carried away," I work to give him a plea.

"I was gonna be gentle because you were a good little pig, but now I think I'm gonna rip you apart."

"Please. Yes! Fuck your little pig as hard as you want."

"Yeah, your little pig hole feels nice and tight."

I'm past caring. Call me a pig, swear at me, treat me lower than whale spit on the bottom of the ocean. I don't care at this point. Just give me a cock up my ass.

"TAKE THAT COCK!" he screams at me as I feel a huge mass of male muscle breach my chute and slam into my guts like a red-hot poker.

"YEAH!" I scream back.

"FUCK!" he howls.

And again… I _hear_ it. From across the hall.

I fly backward from my computer, my dick swinging crazily as I leap at the door. Cracking it open, all I can see is a light coming from under Loki's door. I tiptoe across the hall, and press my ear to the door. I hear the clicking of keystrokes, that's all.

As I scurry into my room, I pause, ready to click the door shut. Heart pounding crazily, I slowly swing it back open. My unhandled rod is jumping and jerking, and sweat trickles down between my pecs.

It is Loki. Loki who fucked my throat and slapped his balls against my chin. Loki's saggy bush I had buried my nose in. Loki's tongue that had wormed up inside me, setting me on fire and making me beg for the monster cock he crammed into me a few seconds later.

"You love my big dick, don't you, dick pig?" he had typed during my frenzied foray across the hall.

"Oh, yeah, your cock feels so good. God, fuck me harder!" I type back frantically, pulling my desk and chair away from the wall so I can sit in full view of the door.

What if he opens the door? It's Loki. Weird, dark, cynical, mean Loki. Skinny, punky, freaky Loki.

Who would have thought it? I try to imagine Loki's thin lips saying the words "dick pig." My hard-on throbs, leaks, and jumps untouched. My balls are like rocks. My ass is aching, imagining those lips against my quaking hole.

And his cock, thick and slick with my juices, burying itself deep inside me, then sliding out to crown before slamming back into me, turning every inch of my chute into raw nerve endings. Loki's cock. Loki's cock?

"You like me pounding your tight pig pussy?" his words flash at me.

Yeah. I love it. Loki. God damn it. Not Loki. Fuck, why did it have to be Loki? I hate that fucker for doing this to me, but… Jesus… just keep doing it.

"I fucking love it!" I scream out loud. And keep screaming, "Yeah, fuck me harder, Loki! Fuck me harder!"

The screen stays blank. Then footsteps in Loki's room. I turn toward the door legs spread, dick straight and proud, my hands dangling by my sides.

His door flies open. The first thing I notice is the tattoo. A snake stretches from his cock over his chest and coils around his left pec, its mouth open over his nipple. Its sinuous body accents his own lithe muscularity. Long, flat planes of muscle stretch over his chest and stomach, sinewy cables over his arms and legs. A patch of dark hair nests between his tits, narrows to a thin, dark line over his belly before spreading out again into a dense patch of black curls between his legs. Following this trail, my eyes are riveted on the pole of flesh pointed almost straight up, curving slightly to the right at the head. His hand grasps it along with his heavy, hairy balls, pointing them directly at me. Without saying a word, he turns back to his computer, his hard ass flexing as he walks.

With his eyes locked on mine, one hand gripping his cock, slowly massaging it, his other hand types, "Show me your asshole."

Silently, I lift my legs and spread them, scooting down in my chair until I feel the cool air of the room against my throbbing pucker.

Loki types more: "Stick your finger in."

I put my index finger in my mouth and suck it slowly. A thin strand of saliva stretches and beaks as I lower between my legs and rub it against my fuck hole, slipping a tiny bit in, and then with a quick twitch I push it all the way in.

I can't believe I'm doing this. That I want to do this. That's I'm looking at Loki, pale and hard, staring at me with those reflection-less dark eyes, his hands stroking himself as he watches me finger-fucking myself.

"You want me to fuck you?" he asks aloud.

Not trusting my voice, I type, "Please!"

He spits into his palm and slicks it over the length of his twitching cock. "I'm fucking you," he says as if he were telling me the weather.

Dry-mouthed, I watch his hand travel the length of his dick, pulling the skin tight as he drives towards his bush. My finger matches his slow rhythm. Adding a second finger as he picks up speed, I drive into my hot centre, finding the hard knob of my prostate.

He spits again, pounding at his prick as his balls pulls up, jerking inside their sac.

"You like my cock, pig?" he asks conversationally.

"Jesus, Loki." I gasp. I want him inside me. To fuck me for two days and then shoot gallons of Loki spunk all over me. I want to swallow his cock and massage it with my throat until he fills me with come.

"Are you my little fuck pig?" his voice hitches slightly.

"Yes." I breathe, transfixed on the blur of his hand on his swelling muscles. Its purple head looks primed and ready to blow.

I drive another finger into my hole, and my body spasms as if hit by 10,000 volts of electricity.

"You gonna take my hot load?" his eyes bore into me, impaling me.

"Fuck. Oh, fuck, Loki, I'm gonna come. Oh, God, Loki, please let me come."

His hand stops, and his toes curl. Then his legs shoot out, and every muscle in his lean body pops as his cock fires a white stream that hits him in the throat.

I'm frozen. My fingers are pressed tight against the throbbing knob at my centre, as jet after jet of sperm flies from the flaming crown of his shaft, abstractly painting his abdomen; as his body jerks and a sound like grinding machinery fights out of his clenched teeth. I imagine it shooting into me, burning my guts, filling me until I overflow and it pours out of me.

I lose it. I can't stop to save my life. My ass ring clamps down on my fingers, the velvety muscles inside clench, and the room disappears into darkness. The first blast never hits my body at all, but I feel it coursing up the length of my cock, ripping the hole open and flying into space. My balls seize and release, and a flood of come pours out of my cock, burning my skin and bringing a scream from my throat that I had never heard before.

I come back into my body, shivering and trembling, the funk of jism in my nostrils, the cooling slickness of it covering me from nuts to neck.

Loki rises from his chair, his own load running in rivulets into his dark bush, and walks towards me. He stops, and the corner of his mouth jerks upward in a half smile.

"Pig," he says, and then with one foot kicks the door shut.


End file.
